Within Her Eyes
by Nico Morrison
Summary: Fifteen years after a strangely gifted Sarah defeats the mighty Goblin King, it becomes necessary that she return. She's walked away from The Labyrinth with much more than she realizes, and it's time for Jareth to take it all back. Jareth/Sarah. Rating may increase.
1. Chapter 1

**_I'm baaaaack! I haven't posted here in YEARS. Having a daughter has occupied all of my time and writing took a backseat. I've decided to ease back into it, so here's a new Laby fic! I'm rusty, and I'm writing this as I go, so be gentle! Hope some of my old readers are still around. Enjoy! _**

**_Standard Disclaimers: Jim Henson owns Labyrinth. I'm just borrowing_ _it._ -NICO**

* * *

The cold marble underneath his hands felt as if it would give way under the strength of his grasp. His iridescent eyes glared out across the landscape, which already looked entirely different than it had just hours ago. At first glance, The Labyrinth looked just as it had fifteen years ago when all of this started. But if one took the time to survey, they would notice the differences. The lush greenery that had blanketed several large forests was starting to brown and shrivel. Stone walls were crumbling and falling into themselves. Neatly cobblestoned pathways looked cracked and worn, with a few long stretches decimated completely. Statues that had stood for a millenia were seemingly melting into sand.

Everything, Jareth mused for what wasn't the first time in fifteen years, was falling apart.

For someone who had lived for longer than he could recall anymore, fifteen years was the equivalent of a mere blink in time. And at the rate things were going, his Kingdom would be nothing more than a desert of dust and sand in the same amount of time. His hands tightened on the balcony ledge again at the thought. A soft rap at his chamber door, audible only to those with Fae blood, drew him momentarily from his somber reflection.

"Yes," he stated, his rich voice flat as he walked to the center of the room. The heavy wooden door, made, on his request, from the rarest materials found in the land he ruled, cracked a bit more down the center as Markayus gently pushed it open. "Forgive me for the late hour, Sire, but we have more news of the Frelinthian clan," Markayus said in the businesslike tone that Jareth frequently found irritating. He regarded the slight, scholarly Fae disdainfully. Jareth was used to the presence of other Fae now, though it had taken several years. After the incidents that took place fifteen years ago, it became necessary to interact more with his Royal counterparts.

Jareth scoffed inwardly. "Necessary" wasn't the right word. "Mandated" more fit the bill. Word of what had happened, and of the subsequent damage The Labyrinth was suffering, spread quickly. Before he could refuse, the Council of Fae elders had intervened, sending reinforcements.

Markayus was one of these reinforcements. Having spent a great deal of time as an advisor to Jareth's father, Markayus was efficient, proper and practical.

The precise three things that made him all the more irritating to Jareth.

"What is it?" He asked, already knowing the answer. "They have left The Underground, Sire," Markayus replied, holding up the worn and leathered scroll he held in one gloved hand. "Earlier this morning they all relinquished their Magic." He flipped open the scroll with one exacting motion. A silvery, glowing signature from the chief of the Frelinthians was visible on the bottom, joining several dozen others. Markayus searched Jareth's face for a reaction. "That's the fourth clan to leave this week," he pointed out, hoping the urgency would register with his king.

"I am aware of the numbers, Markayus," Jareth drawled, turning his back and heading back out on the balcony. Markayus followed.

"At this rate, it will be nearly impossible to repopulate with new citizens, let alone reinstate the allotment of Magic each is required to imbibe," he noted.

"I am also aware of that," Jareth said through clenched teeth, his patience already being tried. He was well aware of the facts, he didn't need some piddling, interfering little insect list them off to him.

"We also have been monitoring the decay at the Lona river," Markayus continued, his voice tight with restraint as he struggled to maintain composure as he recognized the signs of his king's famous temper, "The water levels are two inches lower than they were at this time last month and-"

"Have you brought any news that might make me rethink cutting your tongue out with my letter opener and feeding it to the first creature to fly by my balcony," Jareth interrupted suddenly, his voice low with a menacing quietness that was more frightening than a bellow. Markayus swallowed hard and pushed his glasses higher up on his nose as nervous perspiration had caused them to slip. He flipped through his notes for a moment and then stood silently, too afraid to tell him that there was no good news. "Then that will be enough for tonight," Jareth said, his voice still deadly low.

"Yes, Sire," Markayus replied, slowly closing up his meticulous notes. Jareth turned his back to him and grasped the balcony again. Markayus began to leave, but then turned around to take in the sight of the imposing figure on the balcony. A long, heavy black cape billowed out behind him, lifting in the night breeze every once in a while to reveal the dark figure beneath, clothed also entirely in black. Wild, white-gold hair framed a face that appeared to be carved from stone. His sillhoute was sleek and strong, yet his posture hinted at an air of defeat that comes with a King whose land was slowly dying and whose subjects had begun to give up on him.

Despite his better judgement, Markayus cleared his throat. His sense of duty forced him to say what he was about to, but fear for his physical well being screamed at him to remain silent. "Perhaps," he said, his voice tentative, "Perhaps it is time to bring her back," he squeaked.

The marble crumbled under Jareth's grasp.

* * *

"Sweetie!" The woman gasped, her thin, tanned fingers flying up to her mouth. "It's absolutely incredible! You're a genius!" Sarah smiled slightly and blushed under the compliment."

"It's nothing, Margo," Sarah replied humbly.

"Are you kidding?" Margo backed up a bit, her arms spread out at her sides, "THIS is certainly more than nothing!" Sarah raised her eyes and regarded the piece of art before her. It was an abstract, just like the thousands she had created before, but still seemed to have the haunting effect that seemed to trump all other creations. Sarah regarded her manager, a sweet if not slightly eccentric woman, and noted the wonderment on her cosmetically (and surgically) enhanced features. Sarah recognized the same fascination, the same pure awe that washed across nearly everyone who viewed a piece of her work.

It made her stomach roll.

"I'm telling you, Sarah darling, when I see something like this I wonder how you could ever talk about retirement. You have no idea how much money you still have out there to make!" Margo exclaimed, her eyes still scanning the large canvas.

"I have enough money," Sarah replied quietly.

"Well then think about all the money you'll be depriving me of!" Margo replied, her loud voice and laughter reverberating off of Sarah's studio walls. "Honestly sweetheart, you just keep getting better. And this," she gestured again to the mesmerizing, dangerously beautiful piece of artwork before her, "Will sell for millions. I'm certain of it."

"Well after you take your cut, just make sure the rest of it goes into the trust," Sarah said, as she had so many times before. Margo scoffed.

"And people call me strange," she said, smiling at her young client. "Oh Sarah, why not actually use some of that money for yourself! Take a vacation! Buy a new wardrobe! Or for God's sake, move away from this bumpkin town and join us in LA to enjoy the 21st century!"

"I like the country, Margo," Sarah replied, laughing a bit. "I could never live somewhere with so much noise and congestion." She wrinkled her nose.

"What you call noise and congestion I call 'living the good life.' I doubt you even have a Starbucks in this town," Margo replied disdainfully. "Also, I'll have you know that there's congestion here too. My limo was stopped for a good twenty minutes on the way here because there was some sort of giant, deformed horse stopped in the road."

"A Moose, I would guess," Sarah laughed. "Well, technically they were here first."

Margo smiled and brushed a lock of salon created blonde hair out of her eyes with a perfectly manicured finger. "Still counts as traffic." She took a long look at the thin, pale woman before her. Dressed as she always was, a plain black t-shirt and worn, ripped jeans, she looked younger than her thirty years. A heavy veil of thick chestnut hair hung down the sides of her thin face, framing enormous green eyes that always looked too sad to belong to such a gifted person. Sad was a good word to describe Sarah, Margo decided, and suddenly felt a the familiar pang of unexplained sympathy for her. "Oh Sarah," she sighed. "Why not come with me back to LA? A friend of mine is opening a new club downtown, you could come along. Maybe meet some friends? It doesn't seem right, you here in the middle of nowhere all alone."

"I'm not alone, Margo," Sarah protested.

"Your cat doesn't count, darling," Margo said, eyeing the lazy ball of fur in the far corner of the room, snuggled up on a plush but worn catbed.

"I'm fine, Margo, really," Sarah said, forcing herself to smile again.

"At least make plans to visit your family," Margo urged. "Have you even told your brother about how rich he's going to be when he turns 18?" Sarah shook her head.

"He doesn't know about the trust," she replied, her voice soft.

"Well why not tell him? You hardly ever enjoy your success...or even talk about it, despite all of those high profile interviews I keep setting up and you conveniently forgetting about," Margo jibed.

"I'm sorry Margo. I just don't feel...right...bragging about what I do." Sarah apologized, searching for the right words. Before Margo could protest, Sarah continued, "But you're right. I haven't seen Toby in months and my father and Karen have been asking for a visit for a while now."

"Wonderful, honey, I'm sure they'll be thrilled to see you. Would you like me to arrange your travel?"

"I can handle it, thanks, Margo," Sarah smiled again. Margo smiled back.

"I'll have this latest masterpiece picked up either tomorrow or Thursday," she said. "And I'll keep you posted on the sale. I'm sure it will go within minutes of listing, just like the last one." Sarah nodded, following Margo as she headed back towards the door. "Have a wonderful time with your family, darling," Margo said, pulling on an expensive pair of sunglasses and giving Sarah a hug. "And let your brother know about all that money! Hell, all my older sister ever gave me was a black eye for ruining her favorite sweater." Sarah giggled. "Oh don't laugh. It was the 80's'; sweaters were very fashionable," she said, hugging Sarah again. Margo opened the door, where a sleek, impossibly shiny black limo waited for her.

"How much time do you think you'll need for your next piece, darling?"

"Not too long," Sarah replied quietly. "I'll call."

"You're an art dealer's dream, Sarah darling," Margo said, heading towards the limo. "We'll be in touch!"

Sarah watched from her doorway, waving as the expensive vehicle turned down her long, dirt driveway out to the dusty road, leaving a cloud of debris that shimmered in the late day sun behind it. Slowly, she returned inside, reaching down to pet her still sleeping cat as she reentered the studio. The cat roused and stretched, following its master to where she now stood, in front of an even larger, blank canvas that was already set up next to her latest completed work. "Margo doesn't ever have to wait for too long, does she, Atticus," she asked the cat, who mewed at its name and wove itself between her legs.

Sarah stared up at the blank canvas and sighed. "There will never be a long wait as long as I can do this," she whispered, gently waving her hand across the canvas in one slow, deliberate motion. As her hand swept past, the canvas suddenly sprung to life with vibrant colors, each swirling and layering perfectly across each other until another painfully beautiful piece of art was completed in mere seconds. Atticus mewed again, sounding a little anxious.

"Yeah, I know," Sarah said quietly. "It scares me every time too."


	2. Chapter 2

**_And off we go! Stick with it, there's a bit of a setup here but if you know me, you know goodies are a-comin. Glad to see some of you back and please know that the reviews are greatly appreciated. They keep me going! Enjoy!_**

**_NICO_**

* * *

"And how long would you say you've been feeling this way, Sarah?"

Her new therapist sounded genuinely interested, as they all had in the beginning. She had been to so many, however, that she knew it was only a matter of time before the doctor would lose interest, filing her away as just another woman suffering from depression. Still, the glimmer of hope that someone might be able to lift away the blanket of discontent that had covered her for more than a decade kept Sarah returning to professionals that promised to offer some help.

"Um," Sarah fidgeted with the buttons on the leather armrest of the chair she was sitting in. "I suppose since I was about sixteen or so."

"And did something happen when you were sixteen to spur on these feelings?" The doctor made a brief note in her book.

Sarah resisted the urge to laugh. This question always presented itself with a new doctor. It was disturbingly disheartening how predictable therapy had become.

"I had a sort of psychosis, I guess you could say," Sarah offered. "Other doctors think I created a sort of fantasy world for myself to avoid dealing with things I was feeling about my father remarrying and my new stepmother having a baby right away."

"That would be a lot for a sixteen year old to adjust to," the doctor offered. Sarah nodded.

"I suppose," she allowed.

"Tell me more about this "fantasy world," as you called it," the doctor prodded. Sarah sighed.

"I don't know," she said. "When I was younger, my mind tended to run away with itself. I imagined myself as something of an actress, I guess. I prefered to act out stories I had read rather than participating in reality." She took a breath. "Just after my sixteenth birthday, I was babysitting Toby...that's my little brother...when I allowed myself to get too caught up in my own imagination."

"What do you mean?"

Sarah's eyes flitted to the big clock hanging conspicuously above the therapist's seat. Still ten minutes to go. "I imagined that Toby had been kidnapped. It was so real..." Sarah's voice trailed off, not knowing how to explain what she had created that night inside of her mind and unwilling to appear so crazy right off the bat. "Anyway," she said, her voice a bit stronger, "after that night I put away all of those things. I didn't play act anymore. I threw all of my books and games into a trunk and put it away in the attic. I guess I sort of forced myself to grow up." She turned to look out the window, the Autumn sun low in the sky, creating a gorgeous wash of oranges and reds across the pristine, manicured lawn outside. "But ever since then, I haven't been myself. I just feel...sad. And just...strange."

The doctor nodded and made another note. "Perhaps it was traumatic for you, to give up the things you loved so abruptly."

"I didn't love what I felt that night," Sarah replied, perhaps a bit too quickly. The doctor scribbled something else and then changed subjects.

"I understand you're quite the accomplished artist," she said, her voice sounding a bit too bright. "I was surprised to learn that you were the same famous Sarah Williams I had read about last week in the Times."

Sarah smiled, the same uncomfortable smile she always produced when someone mentioned her work. "Yep, that's me."

"You've become quite successful. And with no formal training, I read," the doctor pressed.

"I studied classic literature in college," Sarah replied. Then, looking thoughtful she added, "The art isn't something I necessarily want to do; it's more like I have to do it."

"Interesting," the doctor took another note. "Your successes in the art world are something to be proud of. How do you feel about your accomplishments?"

Sarah shrugged and thought again for a moment. "Have you ever gotten praised for something and felt you didn't deserve it?"

"Do you feel unworthy of the recognition you receive, Sarah?" The doctor turned Sarah's question into another question. Sarah had anticipated that as well. Therapists never reveal information about themselves. Sarah hated the one-sided feeling that left her with. Her eyes flitted to the clock again.

"Time's up," Sarah announced, standing a bit too quickly.

"So it is," the doctor acknowledged. "One more thing, Sarah. I know this is only our second session, but you mentioned last time about having trouble sleeping. I just wanted to know if the pills I prescribed have helped at all, or if you'd like me to adjust the dosage."

Sarah smiled. "I haven't taken them."

"A good night's sleep can make a huge difference, Sarah. I know you're adverse to taking medication, but I think it could help."

"I'll keep that in mind," Sarah said dismissively. "See you in two weeks."

Without waiting for a reply, Sarah quickly left the small, cottage like home that doubled as her new therapist's office. The sun was starting to set across the small town that lay twenty miles from Sarah's secluded home. Sarah pulled up the hood on her peacoat, blocking out the crisp air. Her converse sneakers moved silently across the narrow sidewalk, except for the random crunching of a leaf.

Sarah shook her head as she leisurely strolled towards where she had parked her car-namely her beloved albeit beat-up 1987 station wagon. She didn't know why she kept on pursuing therapy. Countless doctors hadn't suspected anything severely wrong and to be honest, aside from the very strange things that constantly seemed to happen around her, Sarah didn't feel crazy. She felt...empty. Confused.

Lonely.

After the surreal night she experienced so many years ago, Sarah became determined to live a normal, productive life. It frightened her to think that her mind so powerfully created an alternate universe. But what was even more frightening were the undefinable curiosities that seemed to pour out from her very fingertips afterwards, resulting in anything but normalcy.

She glanced back down at the sidewalk, observing such a curiosity. Wherever she stepped, and almost imperceptible to anyone not looking for it, tiny age worn cracks in the sidewalk silently mended themselves. Neatly planted trees that lined the sidewalk perked up slightly, their Autumn-affected leaves plumping up turning several shades backwards to greens and yellows instead of browns and reds. Weeds receded, puddles became less murky and rusted beams and slanted structures suddenly straightened slightly or returned to a shiny metal.

Because the changes were subtle, people seemed not to notice these occurances...and if they did, they certainly didn't relate them to Sarah. Living so isolated, with only a handful of visitors, people tended not to comment on the lushness of the gardens that surrounded Sarah's home...or the immaculate construction of the farmhouse in which she lived, despite the fact that it was over 200 years old. They didn't notice how quickly a broken window was "repaired," or how suddenly a leaky faucet was corrected.

In truth, all Sarah had to do was draw near destruction and it seemed to sense her presence and disappear.

At first, such things frightened Sarah to the point of terror induced panic attacks. Now, they seemed almost natural.

Sarah wasn't sure if getting used to these occurances was a good thing.

Painting had begun by accident. Several years ago, another therapist had suggested she find a creative outlet to combat her overwhelming feelings of emptiness. On a whim, Sarah picked up some art supplies and brought them home. No sooner had she set up the canvas than did it begin to spring to life, despite her not yet having placed brush to paint.

What stared back at her frightened her to her very core. A face, immediately recognizable and terrifying. A man...no, he couldn't be called a man...a _being_ stared back at her through mismatched eyes, a smirk playing on his lips, his porcelain features curved into a regal yet imposing glare that ripped through her with shuddering force. Sarah had destroyed that painting, yet it repainted itself over and over. And she couldn't bring herself to stop willing these paintings into existence. After hundreds of these images appeared on canvas after canvas, Sarah began to think of the subject of these paintings as real, and not just a product of her overactive imagination. As soon as that happened, her canvases filled with abstract designs of indescribable beauty that won the world over. Her displays drew throngs of crowds...they had been heralded as magical, almost a religious experience for those whose eyes fell upon them.

She had even heard stories of people claiming to be healed of severe ailments after gazing upon her works, but she didn't allow herself to dwell on that for too long.

She shook her head again as she approached her car. She had to be crazy. And no amount of therapy would change that.

Perhaps she would fill that prescription on her way home.

* * *

The long line of Fae elders regarded Jareth with a collectively expectant look upon their faces.

The Goblin King, as he had been dubbed, much to his chagrin, sat in a high-backed, elaborately designed chair, facing the panel of his elders. They were waiting for him to answer their latest query.

"Perhaps we should repeat ourselves," Elder Ionus said, speaking (as all the elders did) in the royal "we." He cleared his throat, leaning slightly forward against the alabaster marble of the Elder's Table. "What progress, if any, has been made on The Labyrinth?"

Jareth flicked an imaginary bit of dust off of his sleeve. "If you're speaking of the progress of decay, then there has been much," he replied tautly. The Elders murmured among themselves.

"Perhaps we have not been clear," Elder Linness said, his voice carrying a terser tone than usual. "You do understand that should The Labyrinth cease to exist, so shall you as was bound by your family lineage and duties."

Jareth nodded. "I had heard such mutterings." He purposefully cast a dismissive glance in the direction of his father, who sat on the far right of the Elder's panel. The considerably older man shook his head in disappointment but did not speak.

"We have outlined...several times now...what must be done to correct your mistakes," Elder Milutti added. "Why is it that you have not proceeded?"

Jareth's eyes darkened.

"Should you continue to refuse to comply with what must be done, we will have no part in assisting you in your self destruction," Elder Ionus said. "The Labyrinth has been in existence since time began, and it is your responsibility to ensure it exists until the end of time. And now, because of what you wrecklessly bestowed upon..."

"Do not utter her name," Jareth snapped, rising from his seat. His black clothing and menacing figure seemed all at once frightening and out of place in the light and bright whites of the Elder's chambers. The Elders exchanged nervous glances, unused to dealing with such...darkness.

"We expect you to do what needs to be done," Elder Wylan, one of the more ancient of the group, finished. "We do not wish to see part of our world destroyed, nor do I believe your father wishes to lose you."

Jareth remained immobile.

"That is all," Elder Wylan concluded. "We hope you move quickly to correct these matters, Jareth."

The panel quietly dispersed, save one Fae.

Lucius moved slowly down the marble stairway from the platform the Elder's Table rested upon. He gracefully crossed the highly polished white floors towards where Jareth still stood, his eyes locked at some unnamed point before him. The older man stared upon his face for a few moments before sighing deeply.

"Son," he began, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. "I do not understand what is going through that mind of yours."

Jareth scoffed. "I have my reasons, Father."

"Oh I'm sure you do," Lucius said, suddenly smiling at a memory of his only child's youth. "I had hoped one day you would outgrow this stubbornness."

Jareth met his father's glance with a cool stare.

"Jareth," Lucius started again, his voice softer, "You will have to retrieve her."

"She will not agree upon a return," Jareth replied.

"Then you will use force," Lucius answered matter of factly. "Her compliance and subsequent relinquishment of power will eventually manifest."

Jareth broke his frozen posture to clench his fists at his sides. "I have no desire to interact with her, nor do I wish to grovel at her feet."

"You cannot save The Labyrinth without her," Lucius said, his voice slightly more stern. "You have a duty as King. A duty to me. To your subjects. Your land. You must retrieve Sarah Williams and reclaim what you have given her. Immediately."

Jareth winced at the sound of her name. He balked at the memories that were racing through his mind, breaking down barriers he had so carefully built. He shuddered, the thought of her too painful to bear yet too powerful to ignore.

He hated what she had done to him, what she had stolen from him.

Lucius recognized the visceral reaction in his son and softened a bit. "You are my only child, Jareth. Your mother hasn't been well..." his voice trailed off before he regained composure. "I will not lose you both at once. Do you understand?"

Jareth nodded curtly, still reeling from harsh memories and now suffering another wound at the mention of his ailing mother.

"Very well," Lucius said, placing a hand awkwardly, and briefly, on his son's shoulder. "I shall expect to hear more fortuitous news soon, my son."

Without answering, Jareth turned on his heel and left, the light in the main chambers suddenly too much to bear.

* * *

Sarah stared at the bottle of pills sitting before her on her kitchen table. They looked harmless. Tiny and pink. Just like on the TV commercial where they turned into small sheep, whisking the smiling user to sleep in a gentle purple fog of butterflies, cotton candy and fairy wings.

That would be a vast improvement over the nightmares she had when she did manage to fall asleep, which was becoming more and more of a rarity.

Sighing, she quickly scooped up her dosage and swallowed them with the last of her iced tea. Maybe everything that was happening was a hallucination, brought on by sleep deprivation. Maybe a good night's sleep _would_ fix everything.

Sarah slapped off the kitchen light and headed in the direction of her bedroom. Although she didn't sleep, it was her favorite room in the house. Her large bed was covered with an antique quilt passed down on her father's side for generations, though it always looked new in Sarah's grasp. A warmly colored throw rug covered shiny wood floors and the huge bay window allowed moonlight to stream inside. She eased down onto her pillow-soft bed, already feeling the effects of the drugs.

Atticus curled up at her side, surprised that his owner was in this location but happy to join her on the plush surface regardless. After several minutes of listening to the furry animal's content purring, Sarah began to drift off.

Right on the edge of wakefulness, however, she saw a strange flash of glitter in the direction of her window and thought she heard Atticus hiss. Her groggy mind chalked it up to an early onset nightmare and slowly released its grasp on conciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Thank you for the reviews! Enjoy!**_

_**-Nico**_

Jareth scowled into the darkness of the room.

_Dammit,_ he muttered in his mind. _She even smelled the same._

Jareth approached the large bed. Visible beneath the quilt was a rumpled form. Jareth's breath held in his throat as he approached, not entirely certain what the sight of her would do to him.

When he reached the end of the bed, the tops of his thighs coming into contact with the wooden frame, he stood deathly still, allowing his sight to raise up to the woman sleeping peacefully atop the plush mattress.

Her face wasn't visible, being obscured by a thick sheet of dark hair and a corner of the quilt, and for that Jareth was thankful. He carefully allowed his gaze to fall on a pair of small, pale hands that clutched the edge of her blanket, as if she was afraid.

His own gloved hands were clenched at sides, his body tense and anticipatory.

_This must be done_, he told himself. He had already let it go on for long enough. He would not let her have the same effect on him as last time.

He would never let anyone have that effect on him again. He took a breath.

"Sarah," he said, his voice stronger than he imagined it would have been, considering how often he had tried to banish that name from his mind.

The form stirred, but then settled back into slumber.

Of course he would have to say it again, he thought, irritated at the very universe.

"Sarah." He repeated the hauntingly familiar name, a bit louder this time.

Sarah stretched and rolled over, her eyes still closed.

Again, Jareth was thankful for that. The shock of the reveal of her face as the moonlight poured over her features was almost too much to bear. He didn't think he could manage seeing the emerald of her eyes along with that, all at once.

He went to say her name again, but his chest was tight with the image before him. On her back, her head tilted slightly to the side, her grip on the blanket releasing her arms out vunerably to the sides, she looked almost exactly as he remembered her. Young. Beautiful.

Dangerous.

He willed his body to ease slightly, inhaling deeply again, before barking one final "Sarah!"

Though he had planned to, Jareth could not force himself to look away as Sarah's heavy eyelids slowly lifted, revealing the silvery green of her eyes.

She stared at him for a moment, blinking lazily a few times, but otherwise silent.

Jareth froze under her gaze, feeling as if the air in the room was about to shatter.

Any minute now, she would return to her conscious senses. Would she be afraid? Maybe run? Jareth held his breath again as he waited for whatever was about to happen.

Suddenly, a bell-like sound filled the room. Jareth knotted his eyebrows together, his mind so ready for the sounds of screams that he was unable to quickly piece together what was happening:

Sarah was laughing.

She sat up in bed, her eyes still fixed on Jareth, and continued to laugh.

He was unused to greeted in this fashion and it was vaguely insulting. In fact, he was fairly certain it had never happened before. His irritation slightly subdued all other emotions for a moment.

"I did not expect you to find my presence so overly humorous," he snapped.

Sarah's laughter fell into an exasperated sigh as she ran her hands through her hair. "No, it's just typical," she said, the sound of her voice annoyingly comforting in Jareth's ears. "I finally decide to take the damn pills and they give me even MORE realistic nightmares."

Jareth cocked his head to the side. "Nightmares? You think you're having a nightmare?"

"God, you even sound more like yourself when I'm on drugs," Sarah marveled. "'Nightmares?' You think you're having a nightmare?'" She repeated, mimicking Jareth's icicle-laced accent. She laughed a bit again.

Jareth folded his harms across his chest. "Who has drugged you?" He asked.

"My doctor," Sarah replied, smiling, her voice still affected.

"Are you ill?"

"I suppose you could say that," Sarah allowed. She leaned forward a bit, towards where he still stood at the end of the bed. "Usually when I dream of you, you're not this interested in my well-being. Usually by now you've banished me to an oubliette," she mused thoughtfully. "Maybe the pills have helped a little."

Jareth blinked, taken slightly aback by this new piece of information. "You dream of me often?" He asked, unable to stop himself.

"Yup," she replied. "This one is a new one though. I guess I really am crazy."

"Explain," Jareth said, wondering how long this would go on for before Sarah realized she was awake. In the meantime, he didn't see any harm in getting some information from her. It could only help his efforts in the long run.

"Oh let's see," Sarah said, suddenly swinging her legs over the side of her bed. Jareth instinctively backed up, his mouth dry at the abrupt sight of the pale skin on her legs shimmering in the silver light. "Maybe the fact that I dream of some man my imagination created constantly. Half of them are horrifyingly frightening, and the other half are..." she trailed off, her eyes glinting with an unspoken secret. "Scary in a different way," she summed up cryptically. "Not to mention all the crap that goes on when I'm awake," she finished, her voice just slightly slurred.

A shirt in a strange fashion Jareth was unfamiliar with fell to her upper thigh, the sleeves hitting her mid-bicep. It dipped down in a V patter at her neck, just low enough to reveal a hint of what proved to Jareth that he was no longer dealing with a girl on the brink of womanhood.

She had taken several steps towards him. Unwilling to back up any further, less he appear weak, Jareth stood his ground, his booted stance wide and imposing. He looked down at her when she stood just a foot away, looking up at him with curiosity. Her hand came up slowly. Jareth stood perfectly still as her fingers brushed the side of his face, swooping down and to the left, hovering just above his lips. She dropped her hand to her side suddenly and shook her head.

"It's so real this time," she said, almost in a mournful tone.

She stood before him, her eyes scanning his, the fog of confusion and sleep visible across her face. Still frozen, Jareth watched, with a combination of horror and exhilaration, as she slowly raised onto her tiptoes, her face approaching his. Her eyes slid closed seconds before he felt the soft pressure of her lips come into contact with his marble-hard own. He didn't move as she left a sweet, gentle kiss there and then lowered back down, sighing. "So real," she repeated, yawning loudly.

Jareth remained fixed to the floor as Sarah turned from him, slumping back down into the comfortable mess of her bed. She lay back on her pillow and Jareth finally exhaled.

At the same time, Sarah began to snore.

* * *

The sunlight was strong across her face, so Sarah instinctively knew she had slept late. She turned her eyes to her window, feeling somewhat refreshed for the first time in a very long time. Despite that one, brief dream, she had actually gotten a decent amount of sleep.

And the dream hadn't been that bad, Sarah mused as she sat up, stretching her back as she faced the large bay window that displayed a gorgeous sunny day before her. She hadn't woken up screaming. Or left with the even more horrible hollow aching in her chest. No, she thought, last night's dream was manageable.

She found herself hopeful, a sensation she hadn't experienced in quite a while. Perhaps this combination of sleeping pills and therapy was going to work.

She smiled, standing up and turning around slowly, stretching her arms as she did so.

Out of the corner of her eye, a dark figure caught her attention.

She spun, her mouth falling open at the sight of the object of her torment sitting comfortable in her overstuffed chair with one ankle resting on the opposite knee, his hand lazily caressing her bottle of pills.

"I do not think you should ingest another one of these," Jareth suggested, his velvet voice almost bringing her to her knees. "They make you behave in a most irritating manner."

He closed his eyes in an oddly comforted fashion when the screams he had been anticipating with anxious trepidation finally ripped through the otherwise silent farmhouse.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Thanks for the reviews! I appreciate them. Enjoy! -Nico**_

* * *

He was so distracted by the constant stream of ear shattering screams eminating from Sarah that he barely had time to register what happened next. One second he was dry and seated and the next he was dripping wet and standing. In a blur of hair and skin, Sarah ran past him, out of her bedroom and down the hallway in the direction of her kitchen.

She had thrown the glass of drinking water from her nightstand at him.

Dripping and enraged, Jareth stalked after her down the hallway, finding her in the kitchen, standing with her back to one counter. A large, polished wood table stood between them. Sarah's breath was coming rapidly as her eyes widened in horror at the sight of him again. She spun around, pulling a rather impressive looking knife from a block of wood resting on her counter.

"Who are you?" Sarah sputtered, holding the knife out in front of her. "What's happening?!"

Jareth wiped the remaining droplets of water from his brow, flinging them dramatically off his glove and onto the floor. "You know very well who I am," he growled back.

Sarah's eyes darted wildly around the room, as if planning her next move. "This isn't happening," she said, her voice coming much faster than normal. "I'm having a severe hallucination."

Jareth rolled his eyes. "I haven't the time for these games, Sarah." He took a step towards her but paused when she screamed again, now holding the knife towards him with two white knuckled hands. He sighed.

"I do not intend to harm you, Sarah," he said, surprised at how easily her name now rolled off his tongue.

"No, no you don't," Sarah said, her voice a bit manic. "You don't intend to hurt me because hallucinations aren't capable of physical damage."

Jareth cocked an eyebrow.

"Yes," Sarah affirmed to herself, nodding and licking her lips nervously. "This is a hallucination. Just a side effect of the sleeping pills. Very common probably. Nothing to worry about." She had begun to speak in a sort of nervous flutter, her mind and heart racing spastically.

"You say hallucinations cannot cause physical damage," Jareth repeated slowly, his mind forming a plan to end this nonsense.

Sarah nodded, the knife shaking in her hands.

"Very well," Jareth sighed again, producing a crystal quickly against his fingertips. Sarah gasped, her eyes getting even larger. Then, faster than movement could be detected, Jareth threw the crystal at one of Sarah's windows across the open space of her airy diningroom. The window panes shattered noisily, causing Sarah to drop the knife to the floor, her hands flying up to her ears instinctively. As the last of the broken glass fell to the floor, she turned slowly to look at Jareth, her face as white as a sheet, her mouth a small "o" of shock.

"May I proceed?" Jareth asked, his voice sounding bored and formal.

Sarah was frozen. She couldn't process anything, so she just nodded again, willing herself to remain concious despite the arythmia of her heart.

"Your stint with that glass of water was your one warning," Jareth drawled, his eyes following Sarah as she managed to cross her kitchen to one of the rustic wooden chairs sitting at a table. As she sank into it, she licked her lips nervously. "I've never given a warning before, so consider yourself lucky."

"This can't be happening," Sarah finally spoke, her eyes watery with disbelief.

"Really, Sarah, have you gone daft?" Jareth replied, exasperated. "I'm not in the habit of having to prove my existence to this degree. Small children accept things faster than you."

"They don't know any better," Sarah whispered, unable to stop herself.

To her surprise, she thought she saw a smirk briefly play upon his lips. He suddenly looked around, his lips curling into a snarl of disgust.

"Honestly Sarah, how do you live here?" He picked up a small carved wooden sign that read "Bless this Mess" in a playful font. "It's frightening."

"Like you're one to talk," she replied, her voice still soft, but slighty more sturdy. "Your castle was filthy."

Jareth made a tsking sound. He moved a bit closer to her, his hands neatly folded behind his back. His eyes were calm in a disturbing way as he studied her face. "Why do you think I'm here, Sarah?" He asked suddenly.

Sarah blinked. "What?"

"Deaf as well as daft," Jareth muttered. "After fifteen of your years, here I stand, in your kitchen. Why?"

Sarah stared at him for a moment, caught off guard.

"Alright, let us try something else," Jareth replied to the silence. "Since your return from the Labyrinth, have you noticed anything...different?"

Sarah swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "I always thought it was a dream..." she said, her voice trailing.

"Now we're back-tracking, Sarah," Jareth admonished. "I believe I already addressed the "is this real" part of the morning in quite a spectacular fashion," he reminded her, gesturing in the direction of the shattered window. "However I would have no problem with destroying the rest of your windows if you require further proof."

His tone bothered her. It was mocking and cruel, just as she...remembered him. She stood, forcing herself to appear as if she was more in control. "Yes, I have noticed some differences," she answered his previous question, hoping her voice sounded calm.

"I see," Jareth said, his eyes darkening. "Explain."

Sarah tilted her head slightly to one side. Without speaking, she moved towards the broken glass of the window. Jareth found himself tensing up as she drew near to the shards, momentarily afraid she was planning on using a sliver as a weapon. When she reached her destination, however, she didn't pick anything up. Instead, she turned to him, making sure he was still watching. When she was satisfied that he was, she gently ran a finger over the smooth part of the window frame.

Jareth watched in silence as the window began to morph and regrow, the thousands of tiny pieces of broken glass turning into silvery droplets, rolling and joining with each other faster and faster until the window was completely repaired to a state of perfection.

Sarah was still watching him, her hand now at her side. Her stomach churned as she took in his changed appearance. He seemed to exude the very essense of her nightmares.

"My, my," he said, his voice slow and tight with anger. "What a marvelous. Little. Trick."


End file.
